bleeding out
by stilessttilinski
Summary: the game they played was never meant to be finite. - LILYTEDDY


**NOTES: It's really late (or really early, I guess.) This is a mess, probably because I'm a mess.  
I do not claim to own Harry Potter or any of the characters in this work.**

* * *

"i love you. probably more than i should."

"i –" pause, "don't want you."

* * *

she's compelled to say no, because peer pressure is bad, or at least this peer pressure is bad, and she doesn't know what to do so she just kind of watches them, their souls soaring away with the last remnants of sanity. her red hair catches in the lights above, and she comes to the inconclusive conclusion that her friends are scumbags and she could definitely do better, so much better.

her cousin smiles at her but in all honesty its resemblance is leaning more towards a baring of teeth than a grin. she smiles back, barely, because her cousin was born a bitch and the boy sitting next to her proves it hasn't faded over the years.

she engages in destructive behavior and isn't quite sure why, but a gut feeling tells her it's probably because of him.

.

he's ridiculously worried for someone who doesn't claim to care. then again, there is a significant difference between not claiming to care and actually not caring, and he might be leaning more towards the former.

calling her brothers is useless but he attempts it anyway because desperate people do pointless things and he is clearly a desperate man. she makes him desperate, but for what he isn't sure. he tries not to be sure, most times.

with her, he seems to think in circles. she is not at home; therefore she's out, out doing things she is probably indifferent to at this point. therefore she is not home.

blank, blank, blank. his brain shorts out at some point twenty minutes after he figures out she's not home anymore, but about ten minutes before he starts to drink himself into a stupor.

it is the annoying kind of feeling plaguing at him that is, in reality, a never-ending game of Chinese handcuffs. the harder you pull the harder it is to get out, but in this case getting out means getting her, but it's pretty much impossible not to pull so essentially this is a lost cause.

.

they beam at her with technicolour eyes and a technicolour soul, but she cannot sit there and just let herself go, let it all go –

rewind. play. "i'm sorry. i just - don't want you." stop. rewind, play. is there a delete button; that is what she wants to know.

the game they played was never meant to be finite. she was perpetually chasing and he perpetually avoiding, and of course she had thought of speed bumps but she always thought it would be her finally stopping, finally taking a moment to catch her breath and get a grasp on, well, everything. she had never predicted the outcome to be this.

.

when he spends too much time thinking, things slip away unnoticed and he doesn't realize until every useful thought has been stored carefully away in a folder in his brain that's meant to be incinerated the very next day.

he thinks about calling her parents, but decides against it, mostly for her sake so she can continue on doing whatever the fuck she wants and he can continue to claim not a care in the world. he owes her that much, probably.

red has always been significant.

.

she wanders through the streets after leaving her friends in the warehouse. ("where you goin' li-i-i-i-il?" she replies "nowhere"; she is not lying.) streets have always been one of her favourite things in the world, but not the ones with the never-ending line of cars, and not the ones with the shops decorated with artsy shit and christmas lights. she likes the ones that are half-lit and have fags scattered on the ground and smell a bit like some homeless people came around and peed all over it.

they're a bit sad but mostly pathetic and mostly useless, and she supposes it's supposed to symbolize something but she doesn't waste time thinking about it.

a phone rings; it's hers; she pulls it out of the patchwork pocket stitched onto the side of her jeans.

"what is it," she says plainly, as if there is nothing in the world that matters less than what the person on the other end of the line has to say. her and her superiority complex are cohorts to the end, even when he has taken her and killed her inside out.

"where are you," his voice is distorted and sounds tinny; she is thankful of this factor, it diminishes him in her mind. "where the fuck are you."

it seems as though neither of them have any sort of inflection, both carrying the flatness in their tired voices, and it's almost okay like this; it's almost okay indifferent.

.

he would like very much to be able to see her right now, just to make sure she looks normal. it's all he can do to not imagine her gaunt and drawn and pale and small – and weak.

he could not associate the word with her if he tried.

she whispers something; with a crack he is gone.

.

"sorry," he gasps immediately, then regrets it. delete."i mean, i know how much you despise apologies because ninety-nine percent of the time they aren't even genuine, but just this one time can you _please_ make a fucking exception and hear me out."

"'i don't want you,'" she quotes. subtlety has never been her strong suit; she looks up at the broken light above her head and she thinks of floating and how she should've stayed in the goddamn warehouse.

"'I DON'T FUCKING WANT YOU,'" she says to the cloudless sky, but she doesn't yell because that would mean she is unfixable and that is something that she most definitely is not. she does say it a bit angrily, though, a sharp edge to the words that he can't make dull with a few hat tricks and a light joke like he used to.

"you know we can't just – i can't just –"

"you can't just what? try? you and victoire are over; _get the fuck over it already_," she spits, an adder lunging and taking the kill, and his chest feels like it's collapsing in on itself again.

he remains silent. it is either because he cannot think of a counterargument or because he is too fucking hurt, or maybe it's neither and he just thinks silence is a well-suited response.

or it's all of the above, but she doesn't care. "fuck you. when you're done waiting around for my cousin to come around and when you're done being in fucking denial, that's when you can come and find me. when you're finished."

she is so close that all she needs to do is whisper now. "i can't guarantee i'll still be there, but we both know now that you're the deciding factor. this time you chase. i'm too tired to run."

she disappears; this time he follows.

* * *

**NOTES: That was complete shit that took me longer than it should have to write, but at least an attempt was made. If you're going to favorite, I request that you leave a review along with it, thank you.**


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